Chapter 14
“Did you hear the wailing last night?” Aoife asked as Clara was fastening her dress the next morning.
Clara shook her head. “No, miss. But the staff were talking about it at breakfast. Mrs Harrow and Alton heard it. His lordship says it’s only the wind in the chimneys.”
Aoife studied her face. “And what do you think?”
Clara hesitated. “I think…” she lowered her voice. “I think it was what the old stories say. The hall boys took the leftovers to the village this morning. They said a woman died in the night.”
Aoife’s pulse quickened. “Who?”
“I think her name was Mineor.”
Aoife’s heart sank. “Bonnie Mineor?”
Clara nodded. “Her neighbours said she’d stopped eating. Lost her heart for it, after what happened in Dromdara.”
Aoife swallowed hard. “Her family died there,” she said softly.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Aoife registered exactly what Clara had said.
“The hall boys took the leftovers to the village?”
Clara nodded.
A small, fragile warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She couldn’t fight an empire. But she could still try to change him. If she could make him see, then maybe she could stop the banshee from crying again. After thevisitors left, she would try. He’d stood up to the other lords. That was the way in.
Aoife rushed Clara through getting ready, hoping if she made it down to breakfast before everyone else she might excuse herself and slip out early without having to make conversation.
The dining room was blessedly empty when Aoife stepped inside. Breakfast had been laid out neatly: porridge, eggs, a plate of sliced fruit arranged in a tidy fan. But no staff hovered at the walls, no footman stepped forward to pour her tea.
She hesitated only a moment before helping herself.
A soft step approached behind her. She turned to see Kit hovering at the doorway.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if I should wait,” Aoife said.
“That’s all right, miss.”
“I never did ask your name. It is Kit, isn’t it? Cook mentioned it.”
He blinked, surprised. “It is. But they only call me that downstairs. It’s a nickname for Kithelm.”
“Kithelm,” she repeated. “And… I should apologise. For the way they spoke about you. As though you weren’t even there.”
He shifted uncomfortably, looking down. “It’s all right, miss.”
It wasn’t. She could hear the lie scraping in his throat.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
Kit’s eyes darted away. “Busy, miss.”
“Busy doing what?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
